


Signs Of Life

by asweetcatastrophe



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But only as much of a romance as these two are capable of, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-12-14 18:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11789112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetcatastrophe/pseuds/asweetcatastrophe
Summary: He wanted her to thrive, but he wanted her to be close. He knew both were not possible.





	Signs Of Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Знаки жизни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995121) by [nealex93_17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nealex93_17/pseuds/nealex93_17)



Although Caranthir knew the Elvish drink he had consumed did more to change his constitution than any of the drinks of Men or Dwarves, he could not blame his lowered inhibitions entirely on its effect. The thought passed his mind distantly, a low cry from a world away, as he found himself reaching out to her slowly and taking one of her dark ringlets between his fingers. She didn't notice at first, her face turned towards the blazing fire her closest lieutenants and his were seated around, but he paid little attention to her as he gently stroked the hair following its natural curl as he went. Among her black hairs was the occasional strand of grey or white which he found fascinating. Over the weeks, he had learned that the changing of Men's hair from its original black, brown, red, or blonde to grey or white indicated old age. He had also learned that the new leader of the Haladin was considered young, having only been alive 24 years. This made the hairs all the more curious to him.

They did not always follow the spiral of the rest of her hair, a few breaking away to create their own shapes which reminded him too much of what this evening was supposed to represent. This was meant to be a celebration of parting. In the morning her people would be leaving his land to find their own place to settle after she had chosen not to accept his offer of land. The pride she had shown when she refused him made him angry, thinking it an insult to his generosity, but it also instilled a respect for her beyond what he thought he would be capable of feeling towards one of the race of Men.

Regardless of this sad reminder, he found great beauty in the errant strands. Contrasted against the rest of her hair, he thought they looked like stars shining brightly against the dark of the night sky and it was strange to think he could find so much to admire in a trait that was so specifically mortal.

"They are not common in one of my age."

He did not look up when she spoke. Her tone was flat, ambivalent to his behavior.

"I think they're beautiful." He said distractedly.

After a moment he looked up to see her watching him, her face grim.

"They are the marks of a hard life." She explained and he knew he would not receive any more from her on the topic.

Haleth, like most of her people, chose her words carefully so as not to speak needlessly and it was not difficult for him to discern what she referred to. It had only been a few weeks since she had lost her father and brother and took control of the Haladin despite some protest that came solely from a bias towards her gender and not an honest critique of her ability to lead or fight. Had there been any real thought put into her credentials, it would have been hard to argue her right to rule. Leading was in her blood and she made decisions with a firm but fair hand. As for her skill in battle, none of her people or his could deny her talent with a sword or an axe. These truths didn't stop some from abandoning the collective in favor of charting their own path and Haleth watched them leave with nothing but an observant, "they will struggle if they survive." As for usurpers seeking the title through bloodshed, two men had been put down, one by her hand and the other by a woman who she promptly appointed head of her personal guard. After that, none took up the challenge and many found respect for their new leader.

But the road ahead would be rough and a part of him wished that she would not leave.

He had heard of how others, Eldar and Edain, had built communities together and the idea had seemed preposterous to him until he had met her and her people. He liked the Haladin with their determined spirit in battle that often made up for their mangled blades that bore evidence of no interaction with a skilled craftsman of the Ñolder or the Dwarves. He liked how their men and women took up arms beside each other and divided up work evenly. He liked how they were willing to open their arms to outsiders, in spite of their preference for solitude, as long as the strangers were peaceful. He even liked the sound of their peculiar language and how they stubbornly adhered to it in private even while learning his. And he liked Haleth herself as a strong leader of Men and, when he was being very honest with himself, as a friend who he could trust who had a keen eye for drawing conclusions and spoke truthfully and plainly no matter the circumstances. 

He wanted her to thrive, but he wanted her to be close. He knew both were not possible.

"I must be very unlike elf women," she said in a slightly amused tone. She was not often openly jovial in the presence of her people, only in moments that always felt secret and sacred, but he believed the drink had an effect on her too. And he had been staring at her for a long time now, her hair in his hand all but forgotten. 

"I am not overly familiar with elf-maidens," he admitted. "And I don't imagine I will encounter another of the race of Men for some time."

For a time she looked down in contemplation, a barely perceptible twitch in her brow that he had come to notice each time she makes a thorough decision. When she looked up, she grabbed his hand that was still twined around her hair and squeezed it, tugging for a second before releasing it and standing up. She took a few steps away from the fire before turning back to see if he was following her. Her expectant look had him rising to his feet, wanting to know what she had concluded.

Slowly she walked to her tent, pulling back the fur that covered the entrance and going inside with him only a few steps behind. Without wasting a moment, she threw off her heavy, fur-trimmed cape, unclasped her sword and pouch from around her waist, and started working on the ties of her armor. He was startled, having never seen her without at least one of these things, but enthralled as each piece fell to the floor, leaving her in only her tall boots and a plain, tight-fitting tunic and trousers that emphasized the curve of her hip and breast that he had never clearly seen. 

"You have my permission to look at me however you wish," she said with practiced authority.

Her remark was strange and his confusion must have been apparent as she continued.

"You should learn more about the race of Men and the female sex while you have a chance and I . . ." She paused for a while, considering her words. "And I would like to understand my femaleness through an unbiased gaze."

"What do you mean?" He asked. She was usually not so ambiguous and, while she was known for being obstinate when misunderstood by her tribe, she was more forgiving of his occasional probing questions.

"This body has made me a subject of attempted murder, it has caused my competence to be questioned, and before I became Chieftain it made men think they could take liberties with me that I did not allow. I do not hate it but for the strife it has caused me. You do not look at me with such disrespect. You judged my race but you did not judge me for being a woman. I would like to understand how you see me."

While the offer seemed unusual to him, based on all the knowledge he had managed to acquire about the race of Men over the last weeks, he could not deny that she was right. He had learned much but could learn more with her offer and the fact that it would be to her advantage as well seemed like a sufficient parting gift. He had his soldiers prepare a more formal gift to the Haladin of blades of Ñolder make and a chalice for Haleth specifically to pass down to her heirs but this was something he could do for her, not as an ally, but as a confidante she trusted.

He took a few steps towards her until they were no more than a few inches apart and took a curl of her hair between his hands again.

“I said your hair was beautiful,” he repeated from before. “It reminds me of the night sky, with the light hairs as stars.”

He saw the corner of her mouth twitch as she let out a chuckle that was but a breath of air. He could not keep himself from glaring at her for her flippant dismissal of his words.

“That is a very Elvish sentiment from what I have come to understand,” she explained and his anger subsided slightly.

He let the hair slip through his fingers as he focused on her dark eyes. They had been the most interesting feature about her when he first saw her as he observed that the majority of the Haladin had dark eyes but they tended to be brown or almost black. Hers were green but a green so dark that it would take a bright day for the less sharp eyes of Men to notice.

“Your eyes are not like your people. They are a forest at twilight and hold wisdom beyond age . . .” he paused for a minute, unsure if he should continue but knowing she wanted honesty, “and fear.”

He could hear her swallow but her steady gaze held on.

He did not know what she feared but he could guess: her command being threatened, the Haladin’s journey being perilous and leading them to irrevocable ruin. He thought perhaps she might even fear the position she was in now considering what she had said in regards to her previous interactions with men. But then, he was not a Man.

He moved a hand up to her face as if he would cup her cheek but paused. She had said he could look at her however he wished but did not give any more permission than that. He did not need to wait long before she glanced from his hand to his face and gave a firm nod of consent.

He had never touched the bare skin of one of the race of Men before but the second his hand found her he needed to close his eyes. Her skin was warm in spite of the slight chill of the room and from the moment he touched her he could feel the lifeblood flowing through her, the beat of her heart, that delicate spark that is extinguished so soon. It was so palpable he had to push it out of his mind before he could process much else about her. When he did, he found her cheek softer and smoother than he had expected. Everything seemed so coarse in the world of Men that he hadn’t anticipated such a small tactile pleasure. He opened his eyes and saw how the skin of his hand was so very pale against the deep tan of her face with its faint flush of red. 

“You are warm and soft,” he said, thinking she might want to hear something of his thoughts but she merely watched without responding, carefully studying his behavior.

He took in her features leisurely and without a further comment. He had heard his own features described as sharp and, if that was so, hers were quite the opposite. Her eyes were large but tilted slightly upwards at the corners which he thought added weight to her serious looks. Her nose was small and flat, unlike his own long and straight one, and this seemed to him to be a very feminine feature, dissimilar in shape but similar in scale to Elf-maidens he had seen. He ran his hand down her face so that it held up her chin, which was not very prominent unlike his own and had the smallest indent in the center which he had not noticed before.

Overall she looked different from any Elf he had known, but what separated an Elf from a Man in the face was not much more than a feeling. Small blemishes that resulted in uneven bits of skin are all that really distinguished her from one of the Eldar when he looked at her in this way.

His eyes moved from her chin up to her lips, which were large and dark, and he ran his thumb along the lower one to see how it contrasted to the skin of her face. Her lips felt different, even smoother actually, and a little damp. When he touched her, she opened her mouth a bit to take in a small breath and then swiftly closed them so as not to interrupt him too much. 

A thought entered his mind about how both Men and Elves show affection by pressing their lips together and he wondered what it would feel like if he were to place his thin lips upon her fuller ones. It was something he had not done before and he was not sure how she would respond but he decided to let the idea pass in favor of continuing his exploration.

When she had stripped herself of her outerwear, she had kept on the few adornments she had: the many rings and studs piercing her ears and the woven band she wore upon her head. The piercings were common amongst all the Haladin and at one point a man had tried to explain to Caranthir what each of them meant. Many denoted successes in battle but there were also specific ones for primary occupation, skills, and marital status. In contrast, the band was specific to her and showed her position as Chieftain. Her father had worn a similar one but she had insisted that he be burned with it and a new one be made for her, signifying the start of a new era.

He lifted his hand away from her face first to run two fingers across the band. It was made of crude materials, ungentle to the touch, but it would last at least a few generations without alteration. He now wondered if perhaps a chalice was not as suitable a gift to her as a new band might be, made of metal and jewels, shining among the darkness of her coloring. It seemed so much more fitting to him than this craft of little distinction.

He tucked her hair behind one of her ears to reveal the array of piercings there.

“Do they hurt?” he asked, imagining they would be nothing for an Elf to endure but unsure about a Man.

“They hurt when the hole is first made,” she answered. “Then they are sore for a bit but now I can only feel them much if I tug or twist them.”

He studied her ear for a long time, wondering what to make of the tradition. Her ears were small, smooth circles all around, unlike the points his came to, and seemed to be overwhelmed with the jewelry. Most of the rings and studs were metal that was thinnest at the point that ran through her ear so as not to change the shape of them much, but some less elegant additions, often of clay or bone, stretched the skin in a way that he found distasteful.

He touched the edge of a ring that ran through the helix of her ear, moving it back and forth to see if she reacted. She did not seem to notice at all and he wondered what it felt like to her.

“You do not like them.”

He knew his expression had betrayed him.

“They are unlike anything I have seen,” he said diplomatically. “In more time than I have had, I would grow used to them.”

But there would be no time.

She gave a small shrug of her shoulders.

“Men who are not of our tribe would probably feel the same. I am not offended,” she clarified.

He nodded in acknowledgement of her words and ran his finger over the other piercings one at a time until he felt her jerk away from him slightly.

“That one is new,” she explained, straightening her posture again.

“I apologize,” he said, giving her a slight bow before moving back up to his full height. He was a normal height for an Elf, but he often felt that he towered over her, and she was taller than many of the Haladin women and an average height with the Haladin men.

He placed his hand beneath her ear, barely touching as he moved down the side of her neck. He had thought the flow of life in her had been strong when he touched her cheek but it was nothing in comparison to her neck. He pressed his fingertips into her skin and could feel the life in her pushing back against them in rapid beats. So fragile she seemed to him then as he thought how many things could fell her before age would take its toll. So soon she would be gone; this feeling so powerful that it could not last. Sadness began to well up in him that was hard to break from.

After what had probably been a long time, he looked up from her neck to see that she was eyeing him with probing concern.

“Men must live always with the awareness of impermanence even if they try to forget it. For Elves, it is not just a detestable concept but often unthinkable.”

She nodded slowly at his words but he was not sure if she fully understood them. The thought started to fade when he felt her tentative fingertips on the back of his hand. 

“But we do not feel very different,” she said, running her fingers gently over his skin. As he watched the slow movement of her hand, his fingers lightened up on her neck and his hand started to move slowly down, stopping when it got to the neck of her man’s shirt.

He was about to correct her, to say that she would be more aware of the differences if she had the heightened senses he did, but he knew it would be unnecessary to say so. She was right really. It is the lack of differences in form that had caused her to originally state his benefit from this experience as being both an exercise in learning about the race of Men and about the female sex. But it was to her benefit that Elves do not see things as Men do, and this thought became particularly strong to him as her hand fell away from his and he ran a finger along the edge of her tunic.

One thing that he had learned about Men very early on was how different their physical relationships were from Elves. For Elves there was no complication: one rarely loved more than once because, if fortune smiled on them, they would wed and lay with their love and that would be the end (with the admitted exception of his grandfather). Men separated the act of physical joining from the act of marriage until a marriage was made and then the two were entwined. He had often heard men (most often men but, on occasions when he would eavesdrop, women too) talking of who they had bedded or would like to bed in a manner he did not understand. They spoke of marriage too but always as another idea, one strictly connected with love or, at least, family and which only referred to one person. It was because of this ideology that a woman undressing in front of a man or a man undressing in front of a woman was almost always seen as inherently sexual.

And it was with this knowledge of Men that he was surprised when Haleth pulled off her shirt so carelessly. Underneath it she had a thick strap of fabric wrapped around her upper torso many times and tied off under her arm. She bent over to unlace her boots and threw them to the back of the tent as well but he was focused solely on where he had left off.

He started exploring the new area, running his hand over her collarbone and left shoulder before moving down her arm. The strength in her arms was clearly shown through their defined muscles. The skin he found was darker than that on her torso, which did not see sunlight as often, and was covered with very fine but dark hairs that were strange to touch. Along his path he saw scars, some like a dark stain of red and some white and wrinkled; the marks of a soldier’s body among the race of Men. 

When he reached her hand, he picked it up in his and admired it: her fingers short but elegant and her palm wide. Along her knuckles were red welts she must have gotten while fighting. He measured it against his own hand and found his palm about the same width as hers but his fingers much longer. Her nails were not short but they were uneven as if pieces of them had been sliced off.

“Given time to grow in peace but ragged from battle,” he guessed out loud. As she did not work a trade, it would stand to reason that it was sword wielding that had altered them.

He then ran his hand up the underside of her arm, bypassing the tie of the fabric strap, and moving to her pit where he found sparse but long dark hair, coarser than that on her arm.

“Men have much more hair than Elves,” he noted.

“That would explain the lack of beards among your soldiers,” she said as if she had been wondering this for a while.

Caranthir nodded, his hand changing direction and moving down her side until it was stopped by the knot in the fabric. He was going to skip over it but she moved away from him again and tugged at the tie, unrolling the fabric from her body and placing it on top of her shirt.

Her breasts fell against her torso and his eyes were drawn by their reveal. They were not as large as he had seen among some of the Haladin women who had to feed newborns but he could understand that wearing them bound would make physical activity much easier for her. He cupped his hand under one of them and raised it, testing the weight and watching how it fit nicely in his hand.

“Are they burdensome?” he asked curiously.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, “Especially since they are unlikely to be used for their intended purpose.”

He looked up at her in interest.

“If you do not have children, how will you preserve your line?”

“I have an heir,” she said dismissively. “My brother’s son will make an acceptable Chieftain one day.”

“That is not the same,” he insisted, furrowing his brows. It had seemed obvious to him that procreation is of particular importance to Men. An Elf can hope to live until Arda itself is no more but he knew of many Elves who saw fit to have children in the event that they did perish in battle or tired of their position or simply because they wanted to experience child rearing. A Man can only live on by creating new life and passing down knowledge and possessions to the next generation before they perish. Especially for a Man of title or wealth, such as her, it would be foolish to allow such things to go to one that was not specifically your own.

“If I marry, how will I preserve my title? Even if my own people accept me, others will not.”

He could not think of a sufficient answer. The obvious thought was to wed a man who did not care for power but he did not think a man of low ambition would be of much interest to her. Another option would be to marry one on her level who had his own status and people but then a marriage would be unsustainable as they would both have their own matters to attend to. 

He considered this subject briefly as his thumb moved up towards the dark center of her breast, running just briefly over the tip which hardened quickly with his touch. She gasped at the contact and for a second he wondered if he had hurt her again, but he realized that while she had leaned away from him when he touched her sore ear, she now bent closer to him. He repeated the motion, intrigued by the sound she made and her body’s response. He could feel a shiver going through her, her heart racing faster, and when he brought his other hand up to her arm, he could feel the bumps of gooseflesh that had risen there. This was pleasure, not pain.

He wanted to touch her a third time but in a moment of clarity realized that he was getting distracted from the intentions of the exercise. Instead he moved his hands down her torso and over her soft belly before sliding back up her sides. There were scars there too, a particularly jagged one ran around her side to her back, and he followed the length of it with his finger, recognizing it as damage brought on by an Orc blade.

“The battle we fought had been but one of many.”

She nodded her head in confirmation.

From the scar his hand ran down her side again, dipping into her waist and then following the flare of her hips until he reached the top of her trousers where he could barely make out part of a large birthmark. With hands that seemed marginally less steady than before, Haleth pushed the garment off her legs and kicked it to the side, leaving her entirely bare.

The birthmark was, in fact, large but not very dark in color. It was a purplish hue that looked deceptively like a bruise but for being much more evenly colored. He traced around the outside of it, finding that it extended as far down as her thigh and around her back, near her buttocks.

“This is distinctive,” he said out loud, more to himself than to her. Such marks did not exist on Elves as far as he was aware.

The hand that had been tracing moved down her thigh, finding it like in nature to her arms: strong with slightly defined muscles and covered in fine dark hair. He knelt down on the floor to follow her leg all the way to her feet which were dirty and callused and the least appealing thing about her form. Men were so heavy on their feet that there was no way they would not endure such abuse and distortion.

He shifted his gaze up from her feet to the patch of hair between her legs, the most hair he could see on her other than the hair on her head, and he ran his hand through it, finding the long dark hair coarser than he had expected. Wanting to see how far down it extended, he moved his fingers between her legs, finding the area wet and surprisingly soft.

She let out a moan that was sharply cut off by the sound of her clenching her teeth together. He could still feel her heart here, racing as it had been earlier, and he started to feel as if the nature of this learning exercise might have changed at some point but he was not sure when it had. He knew he wanted to touch her again, see if she would make the same sound, and the thought he had earlier about wondering how her lips would feel against his was expanding into other ideas. He wondered how any of her flesh would feel beneath his mouth. He wondered how she tasted.

At the peculiarity of that thought he took his hands away from her and stood up. She eyed him sternly as if waiting for his next move, but he wasn’t sure what that was supposed to be now. 

The experiment was over; that much he was sure of. He had looked at her, touched her, and tried to help her, but there was nothing more he could do in the detached way he had been trying to maintain. He looked into her dark green eyes and was struck again with the thought he had earlier by the fire: he had wanted her in his life, but she would not stay, could not stay. He would likely never see her again and their last moment was coming closer, that finality that he so hated. He had never felt so closely tied to another before and she was slipping away from him.

But there was a way she would always be a part of him even with distance and time against them.

One singular thought from earlier came to him then: _to marry one on her level who had his own status and people . . . but then a marriage would be unsustainable._

She knew the customs of Elves. She had been present at every conversation he had on the topic. Truly it would not be in her nature to act in a way that would not be in observation of his customs that she had taken so much time to learn and discuss, but she did hold the power to shape her own life. If he were to act as he desired, she could feel however she wanted to about it in terms of the customs of Men, but she would know what it would mean to him without him needing to say. Even if it didn’t mean the same thing to her, he would not be hurt by it. She could go on to find another to have or to love and only hold him as a brief, pleasant encounter and he could hold her in his mind as he wished and maybe find love after she had passed. Her life would be short and perhaps he would take after his grandfather, although deep down he knew he wouldn’t. One time was all he would have.

He took one of her hands in his and slowly leaned down towards her until his lips finally met hers, and he found himself sighing at the feeling of relief that washed over him that he had made this move, wondering now how long he had wanted this without noticing it for what it was. She was still as his mouth moved gently on hers, savoring the feeling, allowing her time to make a decision. He could sense the slight twitch of her brow when her hands finally threaded through his hair, pulling him roughly against her. And he knew he had been understood.

 

\---

 

He left her tent early in the morning with purpose, although he was regretful that he could not stay to watch her sleep longer. The memory would hold for him, but for her he wanted something more concrete.

As his soldiers and her people greeted each other for the final time, the gifts were bestowed and the Haladin soldiers were very appreciative of their new blades. Haleth accepted the chalice with all the dignity expected of her and started to say her formal goodbye when Caranthir stopped her to say that there was another gift for the Chieftain, holding out a carved gold and jewel-encrusted band to her. His soldiers were all confused as they had not known of the gift, but the Haladin were in awe of the splendor of it.

Haleth silently eyed the band for a moment and Caranthir wondered if it was an offense to the craftsmanship of her people to give such a present, but she then took off her own band and tilted her head towards him so that he could place his creation where it belonged, his fingers tangling in her hair one last time.

“I shall wear it on special occasions such as this,” she announced. “And it shall be a token of the Haladin’s friendship with the Elves for generations of Chieftains.”

Before leading her people away to the unknown, she turned to look at him and he thought he saw a small smile on her lips.

 

\---

 

For years he felt her. Often she would think of him, titling him her ‘estranged Elf husband’ in her mind, and, in the way of the Edain at least, she had remained true to her statement that she would never marry. He would draw on these thoughts of her at times when he was struck with anger that would not subside or when he would feel the crushing weight of his father’s oath on him, and he would find calm in a reminder of the beauty of the stars in the night sky or the forest at twilight.

Then one day many decades on, he knew she was gone. He did not visibly mourn her, she would have scolded him if he had, but he could not deny that her passing had caused a change in the rhythm of Arda that he felt so acutely at first that it was as if the music of the world had been rewritten. With time he got accustomed to the change and would hold tightly to his memories in times of need, but Middle Earth always seemed a little less without the existence of his estranged Edain wife.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re a stickler for canon (whatever that really means in the Tolkien fandom since canon is so flexible and contradictory), I know that Caranthir had an unnamed wife mentioned in “The History of Middle Earth.” Hear me out. So Haleth would have taken the events of this night to her grave because that’s how she rolls but Caranthir, after Haleth’s death, decides that there’s no real point in being really secretive anymore and will occasionally mention his wife in the present tense without giving any information specific enough to identify her. It gets recorded by historians that he has a wife but no one really knows what else to say about her. No one has met her and he always talks about her as if she’s far away so everyone just assumes that she probably lives in Valinor or something but any time someone tries to ask him for further details he just ignores them. No one suspects that his wife was of the Edain because this was before Beren and Luthien.
> 
> Bonus Dialogue (I couldn’t decide whether to include it or not):  
> Caranthir: “This does not need to mean the same thing for you as for me. I know you do not wish to marry.”  
> Haleth: “I didn’t know this was a possibility.”  
> Caranthir: “But if someday you wish to take an Edain lover, I will not judge you for it.”  
> Haleth: “You would be furious with jealousy.” “You should know I am not untouched but it was for reasons born only of curiosity.” “And I did not desire to ever have another . . . until now.”


End file.
